Charles Lamb

A Ballad Poem by Charles Lamb

In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.

In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine,They have store of good venison, with old canary wine,With singing and music to heighten the cheer;Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper's best fare.

In a costly palace Youth is still carestBy a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord's jest;In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails:Does Age begin to prattle?-no man heark'neth to his tales.

In a costly palace if the child with a pinDo but chance to prick a finger, straight the doctor is called in;In a wretched workhouse men are left to perishFor want of proper cordials, which their old age might cherish.

In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust;In a wretched workhouse Age, in corners thrust,Think upon the former days, when he was well to do,Had children to stand by him, both friends and kinsmen too.

In a costly palace Youth his temples hidesWith a new devised peruke that reaches to his sides;In a wretched workhouse Age's crown is bare,With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air.

In peace, as in war, 'tis our young gallants' pride,To walk, each one i' the streets, with a rapier by his side,That none to do them injury may have pretence;Wretched Age, in poverty, must brook offence.